


Like a prophecy

by SpitFire97



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Infidelity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitFire97/pseuds/SpitFire97
Summary: It was a matter of when, not if, she would move on. He feels this prophetic knowledge threatening to suffocate him.Beth never ended up telling him what she’d meant to say.
Relationships: Vasily Borgov/Beth Harmon
Comments: 24
Kudos: 52





	Like a prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because no one stopped me. Please stop me.

It had been weeks after Georgi Girev had first asked Vasily to train him more intensely, that he found out it was to attempt to beat Beth Harmon. That in itself did not concern Vasily terribly, he knew of the young grandmaster’s brilliance by his own experience. But the young Russian grew steadily better as well. It was the uncomfortable awareness of his age and the concomitant fact that other compatriots would slowly but steadily attempt to dethrone his position, to challenge her. Georgi had lost all of his pudgy youth but had still not grown into his slightly gangly height, now towering him. Nonetheless, Vasily put aside his selfish, private reservations and trained the boy, as was expected of him.

There was a sense of climactic tensing when she was invited to attend the next Moscow invitational in 1970, 2 years after her first crushing defeat of his in the previous one. Contrary to the last time she had been in the country, she was accepted into the midst of the Soviet players easily, as she had garnered their mostly unencumbered respect. It was an open secret that the state wished her to become a compatriot, a notion Vasily found quietly hilarious. She was as American as they came – brash, loud, with a strong penchant for extravagance, and utterly unsuited for a calm conservative, dour Soviet life. It was one of the things he liked about her. He’d allowed Luchenko the pleasure of inviting her to the Soviet chess room, close to the room she herself was residing in, a few hours after she had checked into the hotel.

Beth Harmon strode into the smoky room with full confidence of her position, familiar enough with her surroundings not to be intimidated. She had come to Moscow a half-week earlier than necessary. A fact that had surely sent tongues wagging at home. There was a reserved smile on her face, but he did not miss the excited sparkle in her eyes, as she spotted him, “Vasily!” Were it anyone else, he’d have scoffed at the overly-familiar choice of greeting, but it was _her_ and so he simply obligingly leaned down to allow her to greet him the European way, as she was wont to do. He had tried convincing her of a less intimate manner of greeting before, and failed. She placed a light hand on his shoulder to balance as she moved into his space to kiss him on either cheek. Her perfume, familiar by now, enveloped him. He relished knowing her so precisely that he was able to uncover her mirth at rendering him flustered. “It’s good to see you.”, he allowed himself finally, as unaffected as possible. His heart beating loudly enough he was sure she noticed if her widening grin was anything to go by. “Yes, you too. Ready to be annihilated, grandmaster?”, she asked, eyes bright. He was a besotted fool. Inclined his head in quiet response, uncomfortably aware of the stares and raised eyebrows. She was wearing a knee-length A-line dress that merely uncovered her shoulders, a fact that left Vasily both disappointed and glad. She had taken to wearing much more revealing clothes abroad.

“Elizabeth Harmon. How good to see you. I, uh -, didn’t know you’d be here already.” Beth turned in surprise at the voice interrupting the two of them and found Girev. Of course. The boy was fidgeting, red to his roots, avoiding meeting her eyes directly and Vasily realized suddenly that the reason Girev had declared Beth his arch-nemesis, was infatuation. It was laughably obvious and startlingly surprising. But seeing them together as she turned towards the youth, well young man, he could see it clearly. The two of them of similar age, as she moved to greet him with a hug, turned uncomfortable by his blundering, they looked compatible. Good together, even. It was disconcerting how strong his reaction to this sight was. He turned and reached for a much-needed glass of vodka, unscrewing the bottle with more vigour than necessary. He was being unreasonable, he told himself. Unreasonable and jealous without need. He chugged back the vodka, relishing the burn in throat and nose, and poured himself another, wilfully ignoring the excited, inconsequential chatter behind him.

Even though Beth pleaded tiredness from jet-lag, the boy challenged her to a quick game. The two of them amassed quite the crowd – of course, nobody wanted to miss a play of hers, in an attempt to gain an edge over her during the tournament. Vasily smoked a cigarette and found himself surprisingly displeased at his protégé’s display. The boy botched a few moves early in the game, allowing Beth to artfully attack his inaccuracies. She was playing this game as if it was music, intrinsically aware of the next tone. It was beautiful. He knew the boy was able to play with much more finesse than he showed. Girev looked embarrassed when he resigned, clearly wishing he had never challenged the grandmaster. “Ah, come on, Georgi. You didn’t play badly, your positioning in the middle-game was a little inaccurate due to your opening, but you did your best to make up for it. It was finicky to get out of that pin, there.”, she pointed at a knight–rook pin of her queen. The boy nodded, grateful for the kind words, avoiding both Vasily’s dissatisfaction and the other men’s obvious amusement.

Beth’s eyes found his. “So, you trained him, Vasily?”, she asked, the unspoken _‘And that’s all he could do?_ ’ obvious in her tone. “Here, have a drink, boy.”, Laev offered Girev a vodka and patted the boy's shoulder in commiseration. “He’s better, usually.”, Vasily said in response. He saw the boy duck his head abashed and conceded that this maybe had been a little harsh towards the boy.

Beth shot Vasily a chiding glance, before offering the boy to go to the Gorky park to train the following day. Girev accepted immediately, excited, “It’s a date!” Her gaze snapped up to his again. Vasily hung onto his stoicism with fingertips, was certain that little of his usually calm demeanour was left in his features at present. He grabbed the bottle again and poured himself another drink. Beth’s face had transformed in the meantime, mischievous pleasure at his inability to put the boy in his place, as he desired. “Yes, it’s a date, Georgi. Pick me up in the lobby at 11 tomorrow morning?”, she encouraged him batting her lashes. Her gaze swept through the room before settling on Vasily again. “I’m a little tired, now. I think I’ll go to bed…”, she announced, reaching for her purse and bid the room goodbye, left but not before shooting Vasily a final self-satisfied, knowing smile.

They had a rule. He himself had instated it. He didn’t care. “I’m going to sleep, as well.”, he downed his fourth glass, a mere five minutes after she had left. Implicating himself with a wrong-doing, he was almost certain many inside this room already suspected him of committing. If he was to judge their less-than-covert glances in his direction. “Already?”, Luchenko asked, surprise at his clear obviousness. Vasily tried to find a suitable excuse, came up lacking, and simply said, “Yes.” Luchenko huffed a laugh in response at his uncharacteristic lack of reserve but turned away again and continued to gently instruct a confused Girev about his failed moves. Led by his cock, Laev’s faintly accusing gaze seemed to say.

She opened the door, surprised at his display of impatience, and stepped aside quickly to let him in. He kissed her like he was a man drowning, even though he had done so mere hours before, right after she’d checked in. That’s what it felt like, loving her. As if he was drowning and she, his oxygen. They stumbled towards the still-rumpled bed and she smiled into their kiss at his lack of restrain. “You’re a hypocrite, Vasya.”, she chided as he attacked her throat. He grumbled his assent against her skin. She laughed breathily when he pushed up her dress. She stepped back and divested herself of the garment, while he shucked off his shoes. She helped him with the buttons of his shirt, underwear-clad. Although he enjoyed the contrast of the black satin against the pale of her skin and the ruddiness of her hair, he preferred the dusky peach of her nipple, underneath. He stripped perfunctorily. She accommodated his command to take the pieces off, slowly, tantalizingly. Pushing down the straps of her bra luxuriously, before reaching behind to undo the clasp. His mouth was dry as he sat down on the bed. He pulled her close between his splayed legs by the backs of her thighs, mouthed at the soft underside of her breast.

Beth carded her hands in his meticulous hair, leaving it unruly. Which was a fitting metaphor for the both of them, really, he thought. She sighed beautifully sensitive, greedy for his attentions. He was more than willing to accommodate her wishes. Vasily pushed into the give of her core through the soaked material of her panties, looked up to find her staring at him through hooded-lids. She was already so wet, ready, without much preparation. It only stoked his thirst for her. He hooked his forefinger into the bottom of her panties and pulled them down. Making her shiver at the contact, or the cold air, he did not know. She stepped out of them gracefully before looking at him, seeming uncharacteristically unsure of herself, of her body. He decided for her then and pulled her to sit astride him. Thighs straining wide to be as close to him as possible. She moaned into his ear as she sank down on him, gripped him to hold on when he helped her rise and fall steadily. She was keening as she came, head thrown back, control utterly lost. Like a buffet for him to feast upon. He followed her quickly.

Beth liked it when he stayed inside her until he’d softened. The both of them in a limp embrace with one another, holding the other up while simultaneously being held themselves. Her heart slowed to a more languishing speed against his chest. Her body was slowly growing into that of a woman rather than a girl’s. Her breasts fuller, now, the flare of her waist different than it had been, before. “What was that with Georgi?”, she asked him finally, voice a little drowsy. Vasily knew he sounded defensive when he replied by asking her the same question, but couldn’t help himself. Beth pulled away to look in his face, clearly delighted by what she saw. A surprised laugh before her delight turned to cheek. “You’re jealous.”, “What ever of?”, he tried as evenly as possible, which resulted in her grin spreading further. “He’s harmless.”, she placed a soothing peck on his lips, before standing. She looked bright-eyed, giddy. Pulled him up for their post-coital ritual. “Come, I have something to tell you, later.”, she looked almost nervous.

It wasn’t Girev he was jealous of, Vasily thought as he sat beside her on the rim of the tub and washed her hair. She liked to be taken care of. He rinsed her hair and soaped it, found a love-bite at the juncture of her neck. His mark. The impulse to press into it. Intensify it. For he knew it would fade again, and he would replace it with another. And that too would fade, when she left the country again, and he wasn’t there to replace it. It was the inevitability of someone, some day catching her attention in the way he had, back then. Someone who was closer to her in age. Someone who would provide for her the things she should have. Someone who could. It was his lack of power to stop someone like Girev that left him frustrated. It was a matter of when, not _if_ , she would move on. Felt a phantom pain in this prophetic knowledge that threatened to suffocate him.

Beth never ended up telling him what she’d meant to say.

“We both know this can’t last indefinitely.”, he said, “It’s the natural way of these affairs.” He felt her stiffen at this. Rueful at having hurt her. She wielded her pain expertly, as always, “Is that what you’re trying to say? I’m not yours and you’re not _mine_ and, what, this means I’m - free to do as I please?”, she asked, tone full of unshed tears. She turned her head in his hands to look up in his face for confirmation. Eyes full of pain. She uses her vulnerability as a weapon, he thought. Continued washing her, silent, trying to numb himself, to prepare. He thought of his wife, at home, and her accusing eyes. Of his innocent son, confused at his parents’ never-ending fights. Of the people, he should love, but simply didn’t. And her, whom he shouldn’t love, but simply did. Did, with an intensity of feeling he’d never known possible. She had no idea, he thought, just how much he was hers.

They meet again, roughly two months later, at an Interzonal in Uppsala. He is already there when she arrives. Standing in the second floor of the open-plan lobby of the hotel. Waiting for her. Nursing a drink. Her hair is a buoy amidst the sea of unimportant people. He stands to greet her, is on the wide staircase leading making his way into the first floor, when she spots him. Her eyes love-sick, as always. Yet, that is not what makes him almost stumble and fall. It’s the way she turns away. To a person beside her, flushing. Someone he had not noticed next to her. She tells the man something intently, their proximity speaking of familiarity. Intimacy? The non-descript, pale man, with slightly sunken eyes and even paler lips, turns his darkening gaze towards Vasily. It’s the way she curls in on herself, defensively, away from him. And the way the man’s hand finds her middle, almost protectively, that redirects his focus from her face to her distended stomach.

The two agents are breathing down his neck by then. “Don’t do something foolish, comrade.”, one of them warns lowly. He nearly misses it. His heart is in his throat, his fast pulse like cotton in his hears, blotting out everything but her deep breath. “Vasily.”, she says weakly, attempting a smile, managing a grimace. Eyes begging him to understand. “Meet Harry Beltik, my fiancé.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this one is stylistically more pleasing to read in comparison to the monster of a fic I posted previously.  
> Oh, and thank you for reading, of course. Your comments always make my day.


End file.
